


Split

by madeofbees



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Carol is Reasonable, Daryl Doesn't Know How to Emotions, Daryl and Carol are both adorable, Daryl is Argumentative, Daryl is Shy, Daryl is Stubborn, Daryl is awkward, F/M, Flirting in General, Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Whether they mean to be or not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2667086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeofbees/pseuds/madeofbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Terminus, Rick decides the best way to find somewhere safe is to split up, so they can cover more ground. Daryl and Carol end up on their own, looking for the next prison, the next farm. Daryl has feels; Daryl is not good at having feels. Silly Daryl/Carol fluff ensues. Minor spoilers through the first episode of season five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fuckin' Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> I know I know. I've been horrible about abandoning stories. But none of them are actually abandoned, I promise, I'm going to finish them. I've just been going through a really hard time and the muse is finicky. But I will make it happen.

Rick suggested they split up the third day after Terminus exploded.

Daryl was the first to reply, breaking the shocked silence.

“Excuse me?”

Rick tilted his head, the way he did when he was being the reasonable one, when he was diffusing a situation that more often than not he'd caused in the first place. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Ain’t nothin’ about that that's makin’ sense!” Daryl said, already nearly shouting. “We’ve just got back together, you can’t seriously be sayin’—”

“He’s right,” Carol interrupted, and Daryl spun to face her with something like panic. Concealed panic, he hoped vaguely, in the part of his brain that was still functional. “There’s too many of us. We can’t cover enough ground like this, and we need to find somewhere safe” She glanced at Judith, currently cradled in Carl's arms. “Soon.”

Rick nodded. “Not too many, we don't want to spread ourselves too thin. Three, maybe four. We’ll each take a direction, see what there is to see, and meet back here in a week.”

“This is crazy,” Daryl said, spinning around, not able to look at Rick without risking punching him, not able to look at Carol without risking an all-out meltdown, not giving a shit about anyone else.

“What, exactly, are you suggesting?” Glenn asked, and Daryl stopped listening. If Rick, Carol, and Glenn were all for it, there wasn’t a point in arguing.

Splitting up.

They were splitting up.

Again.

He kicked a tree. _Fuckin’ crazy._

“Beth,” he said suddenly, whirling back to lock eyes with Maggie. “We just gonna give up? How’s splittin’ up gonna help bring your sister back?”

A muscle in her jaw worked. “Cover more ground,” she said dryly. Even not listening, Daryl had heard the words a hundred times in the past minute. He hated them. “Findin’ a stable place to set up is a lot more likely to bring her back than wanderin’ the state for the rest of time.” Her eyes hardened. “Since you already tried that and all.”

Daryl took a step forward, and then Carol was at his side, grabbing his arm.

“Don’t,” she said, quietly, maybe so no one else would hear. It was that more than anything that held him back.

“Fine, since I ain’t got no say in this anyway,” he said, jerking his arm free. “What’re these groups gonna be anyways? You’re in charge of that, too?” The last part was addressed to Rick with a sneer.

“Wouldn’t make much sense for me to divide up a group of people I don’t know half of,” he said, then added, “No offense, I just don’t know how you work together yet.”

The military guy, Daryl thought Abraham but could be wrong, exchanged a glance with the rest of his group. Daryl narrowed his eyes; he’d known from the second he saw them there was something going on, but since nobody else seemed inclined to ask, he’d let it go. The savant seemed harmless at any rate, Daryl could take the girl any time, and Abraham—Glenn and Maggie seemed to trust him, so. The other girl, the one from Woodbury, whatever’d happened to her had clearly taken any fight out of her.

“We’ll be a group,” Glenn said, nodding at Maggie and the other four.

“We’re not gonna have any trouble, are we?” Rick asked, and Daryl wondered that he had the patience to keep from asking what was going on.

“No, sir,” Abraham said. “Finding somewhere safe, that’s the current priority.”

 _Current_ , Daryl thought.

“Good,” Rick said. He turned to Tyreese, Sasha, and Bob. “You three are together, I assume?”

“Damn straight,” Sasha said, jutting her chin out. Daryl snorted; even unchallenged, she was so defensive. It grated on him.

Rick turned to Michonne. “You?”

She put a hand on Carl’s shoulder, and he smiled. “We work together pretty well, don’t you think?”

Rick smiled too. “Seems that way to me.” He looked at Daryl. “Are _we_ gonna have a problem?”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “I want to stick together, not this. Stormin’ off wouldn’t exactly fix that.”

“Don’t seem like it would,” Rick replied. “You and Carol, then?”

“I can keep an eye on him,” she said, a small smile playing across her features.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Daryl grumbled, though he wasn’t particularly upset. “Just ‘cause I don’t agree with the plan, that don’t make me a _problem_.”

“Good,” Rick said, and that was the end of the conversation. Daryl _despised_ the way he could end a conversation with a single word, the hint of an inflection. It was one of the few things he envied Rick. “Now, we’re in four groups. Terminus was to the north—Glenn, you folks take that. There’s six of you, you’ll have the best chance against any survivors, dead or alive. Sasha, you said you came from the south, right? Why don’t you three re-canvas that area; you know it best, you can bypass where you’ve already looked into. Carl, Michonne, and I came from the east, we’ll do the same. Daryl, Carol, you mind tacklin’ the wild west?”

Daryl didn’t bother acknowledging him, and Carol said, “I think we can handle that.”

“Good,” Rick said again. “We’ve only got another few hours of daylight; we’ll stay here tonight, and head out in the morning. C’mon, let’s get camp set up.”

“I’ll get firewood,” Daryl said shortly, and left.

 


	2. Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It wasn’t really the first time Daryl and Carol had been alone since reuniting outside Terminus, except it was._

It wasn’t really the first time Daryl and Carol had been alone since reuniting outside Terminus, except it was.

The first night, after they’d relocated to somewhere safer, there had been a campfire with introductions and catching up. Daryl had sat next to her, often with his head on her shoulder, and Carol kept her hand on his leg just above his knee.

The second day had been a day of walking, of getting as far away from Terminus as possible. Daryl and Carol had dropped back and _really_ caught up; Carol told him in quiet tones about Lizzie and Mika, and Daryl told her about Beth and the group he’d fallen in with.

The third day, yesterday, Daryl had ended up talking mostly to Maggie about Beth, and Carol with Rick about being kicked out of the prison. Then Rick had announced they were splitting up, and Daryl had sulked while Carol did something that was no doubt more helpful than throwing a fit.

Though to be fair, the giant stack of firewood and the six squirrels and two rabbits he brought back weren’t exactly unhelpful.

But now they were alone, actually alone. The closest group was likely Rick’s—Judith made progress slow and dangerous—and Daryl figured there were maybe fifteen miles or so between them. This wasn’t a handful of yards at the end of a long line of people. It was alone, just them, with only the occasional startled woodland animal to interrupt.

Not that there was anything to interrupt.

Daryl was almost positive that as far as Carol was concerned, the silence was comfortable. The quiet of old friends walking through the woods, so close they didn’t need to talk. Which is what it should have been, only it wasn’t, because Daryl didn’t seem to have much of a choice whether he talked or not.

He hated it.

He hated _feelings_ and he hated having to _think_ about feelings, and he _really_ hated having to _talk_ about feelings. He liked _ignoring_ feelings, pushing them down until he forgot they were there, only he couldn’t seem to do that anymore.

It was just.

It wasn’t what it was before.

Before Rick made her leave, before Daryl thought he would never see her again. Before, they had been closer than friends, more than any relationship Daryl had been in, deeper than soul mates, which Daryl didn’t even know if he believed in. But, even though the word wasn’t enough, they had been friends. Just friends, and he was perfectly happy with that. Hadn’t really thought about anything more or different.

When Rick said she wasn’t coming back.

After the immediate punch to the gut, the first thought that wasn’t _I can’t breathe_ : _I never told her_. And so he set out to leave, to tell her, to just _be_ with her because not being with her was physically painful, only life had gotten in the way. And death, the way it did these days.

Beth had been different. Beth was a candle in the dark; Carol was the sun.

Daryl hated it. He hated that he thought like that, like a fuckin’ _girl_ was the _sun_ because _christ_ who even _said_ that. Except the world these days was a really fuckin’ dark place, and Carol was light. Which was fucking _bull_ because that was _not_ how _Daryl fuckin’ Dixon_ thought.

Telling her was one thing when he had no idea where she was and no way to find her. It was another entirely when she was there, next to him. When he couldn’t go more than an hour or two without physical contact to make sure she _was_ there. When she did the same thing, though he wasn’t sure if she knew it or not. When they were completely alone and had nothing to do _but_ talk?

No.

Daryl wasn’t going to tell her. He couldn’t risk losing her again, not to Rick, not to walkers, and certainly not to his own stupidity.

All this would be fine, or at least better, if Daryl could remember how to talk about anything else. Even the weather would be fine, but he hadn’t gotten past _hot, innit_? and her response of _yup, sure is_.

He was a little concerned that she didn’t seem any more prone to talking than he, but he knew how long she’d been on her own before meeting up with Tyreese, and figured she was used to it. Probably even liked it, after having to listen to Ed for all those years.

Unless what they’d had was gone.

Realistically, Daryl knew that wasn’t true.

Being realistic wasn’t coming easily.

 _Used to be zen_ , he thought irritably. _Goin’ soft, that’s what I’m doin’._

A rustle came from somewhere to his left, and Daryl swiveled silently, crossbow drawn, loaded, and arrow sent clean through a small fox before he fully registered what was happening.

“Oh, a fox,” Carol said brightly. “We’ll feast tonight.”

Daryl grinned, yanking the arrow free and slinging the animal into his bag. “Gettin’ sick of squirrels?”

“Hungrier than squirrels,” she said. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but a fox split two ways is a lot more than what I’ve been getting.”

“Amen to that.” He fell instep beside her. “We should probably start lookin’ for a place to camp tonight, ‘specially with the fox.” He realized that didn’t necessarily make sense, and hastily added, “Since it’s bigger than a squirrel and it’ll take longer to cook an’ all.”

Carol smiled, the one where she thought he was being dumb. “I got it. What’re you thinking, a clearing? We haven’t seen a house since the shack, I doubt we’ll stumble across one anytime soon.”

“Clearing’s fine,” Daryl said, stealing a quick glance at her, almost without noticing. “It don’t have to be big, not for just the two of us. Really, anywhere’s fine.”

Her smile widened, and she elbowed him. “Such a gentleman, letting me pick where we camp.”

He flushed slightly. “I don’t care much.”

Her hand bumped his for a quarter of a second: _it’s okay, you’re here; it’s okay, I’m here; it’s okay, we’re here together_. He thought. “I’ll let you know when the stars have aligned.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was pretty sure he was smiling. “You do that.”


	3. Plates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He did _not_ talk, he did not _like_ talking, but talking was _helpful_ and _good_ and it would be really convenient if it was possible without the constant fear of saying the wrong thing, of giving something away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I've finished, but I have started the next one, and I am obsessively catching up on S5 ~~and rewatching S3~~ so hopefully my muse will stay. If it doesn't, I'll just watch the hug again, that's all I really need :D

Maybe fifteen minutes later, in a small stand of pines, Carol stopped and said, “Here’s good.”

Daryl looked around, making the same assessments he’d been doing all his life: high ground or low ground (neither, flat); no water source (not a problem, they’d filled up a few hours ago); twenty-odd yards of relatively open pines, then denser woods (good, they could see what’s coming); no low branches to hang food from (not the end of the world for one night); no dry brush (good, nowhere for a fire to spread); soft ground (good, comfortable). Out here it didn’t really matter if a walker or a bear stumbled into their camp, it amounted to the same.

“Looks good,” he confirmed, dropping his bags and rolling his shoulders. “We passed a downed maple a minute or two ago, I’ll go back and get us some wood. Want to set up the pit?”

“On it.”

He hesitated at the edge of the pines. “Watch yourself.”

Carol was already sweeping away pine needles in a rough circle, and she looked up, bemused. “I always do. You too.”

Daryl mumbled something in response, and left.

The maple was farther than he remembered, giving him time to think, time he didn’t want. 

 _Alone tonight. Just the two of us._  
 _So?_  
 _Gonna be that way for the next week._  
 _Gonna do something about it?_  
 _No tents, just sleeping bags, the canopy, and the sky._  
 _And?_  
 _Might get cold at night._  
 _Might._  
 _Just us._  
 _Still true._  
 _Yeah but—_  
 _Stop bein’ a pussy and man up._  
 _Not gonna happen._  
 _Pussy._  
 _This’s stupid._  
 _No shit.  
_ _Fuckin’ hell._

 Daryl trudged back to camp, not in the best of moods, carrying branches that were too green to light easily.

“Pine needles,” he said, getting to work arranging the wood inside the rock circle Carol had made. “And dry leaves, if you can find any.”

Carol rested a hand on his shoulder, and Daryl’s eyes slipped closed. Just for a second, just long enough to focus only on her warmth, her touch, _her_.

“I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t trust himself with anything else. He did _not_ talk, he did not _like_ talking, but talking was _helpful_ and _good_ and it would be really convenient if it was possible without the constant fear of saying the wrong thing, of giving something away.

—

It didn’t take long to get the fire going. Daryl had enough experience that he could set a wet log on fire if it came to it, and teaching Carol how to handle fresh branches gave him extra incentive.

_Showin’ off for the ladies?_

Daryl pushed the voice away, speared the fox, and set it to roasting.

“It’s getting chilly,” Carol said, scooting closer to the fire, drawing her legs up to her chest. “We were uphill most of the day; how far into the mountains do you think we are?”

Daryl shrugged. “Hard to say, but you’re right, it’s just gonna be up from here.” He poked at the flames, looking at anything other than how beautiful she was in the firelight. “Don’t reckon there’s gonna be a lot of settlement, but we could get lucky. Rich folks sometimes have retreats up here. Beth and I found one, it was good for a night or two.” He snorted. “Might’ve lasted longer if we hadn’t set it on fire.”

There was a pause, and then: “Did something happen between you two? You talk about her like it might’ve.”

Daryl froze. “I, uh. No. Nothin’ happened.”

Another moment of silence. “Did you want it to?”

He let out a pent up breath. “It’s—compli—no. I thought—might’ve wanted—but it weren’t like that.” He sighed. “Things have a way of gettin’ confused when you think everyone you love is dead and th’ only person you’re with is…” _A candle and you’re the sun and jesus christ._ “I needed her, then.” _Because you weren’t there._ “She was hope; who don’t want hope?”

It was a while before Carol responded.

“If we find her?”

Daryl poked the fire again, and a knot exploded, sending a stray spark onto the fox’s fur. He batted it out.

“No. Not like that.”

“What about her? Do you think she’ll want you?”

Daryl huffed, annoyance covering _please stop talkin’ ‘bout this ‘fore I say the wrong thing_. “Don’t know. Walkers came ‘fore she could say anything.”

“Mm.”

A second, maybe two, before he burst out: “What’s with all the askin’? Since when d’you care what I’m doin’ with who?”

Carol laughed quietly. “I care about you, all of you. If you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine. I was just checking in, seeing how you’re doing.”

Daryl flushed. Of course it wasn’t anything more, and now he sounded like an ass. “Right. Sorry.” He gave her a half smile. “You and Tyreese?”

She laughed again, louder, a full-on Carol laugh, and Daryl fell in love a little more. “He’s not feeling too warm and fuzzy towards me these days. And anyway, no. Definitely not.”

He settled a little and rotated the fox. “Good.”

A split second before he realized what he had said, and half of that before Carol responded.

“Good?”

“Just sayin’,” he muttered. “I mean. He’s not. And your history, it don’t. Just. Good, is all.”

“He’s not what?” Carol asked quietly.

“He just ain’t!” Daryl said too loudly. “Christ, forget I said anything.”

She didn’t reply, and he stared moodily into the fire, every so often moving a branch here, throwing on a few extra leaves there, keeping the fox cooking evenly. They were still in silence when it was ready, and as he started slicing it up, he saw a sight so strange he thought he was seeing things.

“Plates?”

Carol looked up with an embarrassed sort of smile. “I got them at the house where Tyreese and I were staying. It just feels civilized, y’know? Eating off a real plate.”

Daryl shook his head, unable to stop his own smile. “Fresh-killed roasted fox on dinner plates. Sure, why not. Seems fitting enough.”

She handed them to him, he served, and just like that, everything was back to normal.

 


	4. Peanut Butter and Sardines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He thought about blurting it out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry about the break. There was Thanksgiving, and I threw out my knee and I've been in horrible pain. I'm finally starting to do a bit better, but I'm still kinda nnn. I don't have anything written after this so there might be another break, but I promise I'm not abandoning it. Stick with me?

They got an early start, and as the day went on, Daryl was simultaneously more and less comfortable.

Easy conversation was coming back, and they talked about everything from identifying plants to favorite music to, in fact, the weather—cooler than yesterday, and starting to cloud over. Easy silence, too, when they’d just walk and enjoy the woods, the breeze, each other. There were fewer reassuring touches, but there didn’t need to be as many.

On the other hand, the longer they were together, the more Daryl needed. The more he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t realized before, back at the prison—hell, back at the farm, or at camp outside Atlanta. The way her laugh always made him smile, even when the joke was on him. The curve of her ass, and his tendency to walk just the slightest bit behind her without noticing. How she was the sun and he had given up trying to deny it.

He thought about blurting it out.

_I love you._

It wouldn’t be so hard, just the three words, and then it’d be done. The problem was that it _would_ be done, _they_ would be done, and that wasn’t an option.

He thought about taking her hand, telling her quietly when they settled down for the night.

_There’s somethin’ I need to say._

But that would be worse, because he couldn’t pass it off as an accident. It would be planned and organized and thus a big deal, and it was already a big deal.

He thought about never telling her.

Except he also thought that might kill him.

He was thinking too much, and he hated thinking about feelings.

 _Hated_ it.

And so Daryl didn’t say anything, letting Carol lead the conversation, decide when they’d talk and when they wouldn’t, even when it was time for lunch (because he was too busy enjoying her company and not thinking about it that he’d forgotten he was hungry).

The same way he’d missed the smokestack peeking up through a gap in the trees until she grabbed his arm and pointed.

“Look.”

Daryl stepped in front of her instinctively, taking out his crossbow, scanning the area the way he should’ve been doing all day. Quiet, except for a few birds calling back and forth. No moans. No footsteps. No smoke from the chimney. No lights from any windows, and he could see windows, and the house itself, now that he knew where to look. It was more of a cabin, small, probably one room. He inhaled; there was definitely an outhouse nearby, so no bathroom. No vehicles, at least not around this side. The windows weren’t boarded, so in all likelihood no one had been here since everything went to hell. Maybe they’d get lucky and the door would be unlocked.

“C’mon,” he whispered, starting towards the cabin. He still didn’t hear footsteps and stopped, looking over his shoulder, about to ask Carol why she wasn’t coming.

She was right behind him, step for step, with her knife out and a raised eyebrow.

“Everything okay?”

She’d gotten _good_. He shook himself. “Yeah, sorry.”

Still no signs of life or death when they reached the tiny clearing, and none after circling the cabin. The windows had drawn curtains, but that wouldn’t stop a walker from slamming against the glass. They had each taken a side, Daryl left and Carol right, and they met back up outside the front door.

“Nothin’,” he said, and she nodded.

“Same.” She nodded at the door. “I’ll cover you?”

Something pleasant twisted through his stomach, never mind that he’d heard the words thousands of times since finding the camp outside Atlanta, whether from Carol or anyone else. He gave her a short nod, and they advanced.

It was unlocked, and empty.

Daryl lowered his bow, taking in the room. Fireplace (oh god that sounded good), overstuffed couch and recliner, threadbare rug, small but functional kitchen (and cupboards, but he forced hope down), a double bed with a hand-quilted blanket, chest at the foot of the bed that hopefully had more blankets, back door leading to the outhouse.

“Not bad,” he said, dropping his bag by the couch as Carol closed and latched the door behind them. “Not exactly big enough for all of us, but we can use it as a base, goin’ a little farther out each day now that we have somewhere to come back to.”

“Screw that,” she said, and he raised his eyebrows. “We’re taking a day off. There’s a _couch_ , Daryl. A real, actual _couch_. And a _bed_.” She sighed dreamily, and he laughed, covering the shiver caused by hearing his name from her lips.

“Alright.”

“Light a fire,” she said, though it was more of a demand. “There’s a stack of firewood outside. I’m raiding the kitchen.”

He snorted, but went to get the wood. _Pre-chopped_ wood. A novelty these days.

“Beans,” was his greeting when he came back in. “I hope you like refrieds.”

“I’m a backwoods hick, of course I like beans,” he said, kneeling by the fireplace.

 _Long matches_ , he marveled.

Carol gasped, and he whirled, knocking over the wood.

“What is it?”

She turned to him, beaming. “Canned peaches!”

Daryl rolled his eyes and turned back to the fireplace before she could see his smile. “Shit, don’t scare me like that. Thought it was a walker.”

“In a cupboard?” she asked, and he didn’t have a response. She continued to announce her findings as he started the fire.

“Cheez Whiz.”

“One—no, wait, two tins of sardines.”

“Mostly empty box of saltines, complete with rat droppings.”

“Unopened bottle of canola oil.”

“A mostly full jar of peanut butter.”

A few minutes later, just as Daryl got the first big log to catch, she joined him, sitting next to him on the floor, closer than usual. It took him a moment to remember that she just wanted the warmth of the fire.

“Peanut butter sardines,” she said, unscrewing the jar.

“Better or worse than fox?” he asked, eyeing the food. He nearly gagged whens he opened the tin. “Fuckin’ hell, eat that outside.”

Carol laughed. “It’s real food. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Ain’t nothin’ real ‘bout that,” he said. “Gimme the knife.” She handed it over, eyebrows raised, then laughed again when he dipped it into the peanut butter and ate it plain off the utensil.

“Classy.”

“Better’n that. I’ll go huntin’, get somethin’ real for dinner.”

“We have a fireplace,” Carol said firmly. “We have officially reached the pinnacle of class.” She paused for a minute, then asked, “Flip you for the bed?”

He started, accidentally knocking his knee against hers, then started again and all but jumped back. “No, you take it. The couch is fine.”

“Stop being such a gentleman,” she said, and he flushed. “Do you have a coin?”

“Not for you,” he said defensively. “Bed’s yours. A couch is miles better than dirt ground.”

“You’ll need the rest,” she said quietly, a sparkle in her eyes. “You have to conserve your energy. Since you aren’t having sardines and all.”

Daryl groaned. “We’ll settle this later. I’m goin’ huntin’.”

“Be careful,” she said automatically, then more quietly added, “Don’t go too far.”

Warmth flooded through him. Every reminder that she needed him as much as he did her, romantically or not, was carefully filed away, a snapshot for darker days.

“Keep the fire goin’,” he said, because it was too hard to explain what it meant.

Carol gave him a salute, and he left.

 


	5. Chili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Her smile turned coy. “Wife, huh?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not abandoning this. I swear I'm not. Things have been busy and holidays and I was sick and knitting and coloring mandalas. Also I just realized how horrible these chapter titles are and I'm really sorry. There will be more chapters, I promise, it just might be slow. I'm getting married a week from tomorrow and honeymoon and Christmas and New Year's and birthdays and friends from out of town and _so much_. But I will do the thing. I swear.

Daryl had a lot of excuses for why he spent the rest of the day hunting. He wanted to get enough meat to last until they met back up with the rest of the group outside Terminus (even though it would spoil long before then). He wanted to bring back something other than squirrels and rabbits, because he and Carol were both sick of them (especially Carol). He wanted to give them both some time to themselves, because they were both used to it (except all he wanted was to be near her).

He needed time to think, and he didn’t have an excuse for that one.

He arrived back at their cabin after the sun had set but before it was dark, a coyote slung over one shoulder, and water satchels filled from a nearby stream. He pounded on the back door, shouted out that it was him, and waited for Carol to undo the latch.

“I was starting to get worried,” she said with no preamble. “Stay close, I said. Where were you?”

“Huntin’,” Daryl replied, tossing the carcass onto the kitchen table. “Got us some real food.”

“You didn’t have to stay out so long.” He felt her eyes on him as he reexamined the coyote, once again making absolutely sure that it hadn’t encountered any walkers. He’d already done that, after shooting it, but it never hurt to double check.

Especially when he didn’t know what to say.

A few moments passed, long enough to make it clear he wasn’t going to respond, and Carol huffed. “You can be a real ass.”

Daryl spun to face her. He’d been about to clean the coyote, and was still holding the knife; if anything, his grip was tighter with anger, or whatever he was feeling, he wasn’t exactly sure.

“What, by gettin’ us dinner? An’ breakfast, and lunch, and dinner again? By takin’ care of us while you sit around keepin’ the _hearth warm_?”

Carol’s eyes were glued to the knife. “Daryl…”

He followed her gaze, and swore, immediately throwing it onto the table, where it clattered and then softly thudded against the dead animal.

“Shit, Carol, I—I didn’t—” But how could he undo that, how could he live with himself for making her look at him and see _him_ , see _Ed_ , and he hadn’t ever been good with words, especially under pressure, and he couldn’t even _look_ at here, and—

“I know,” she said, words flat. “I’ll just get back to the _hearth_ , shall I?”

“Wait.”

She paused, for a second, and he caught her eyes, and something diffused.

“‘M sorry.”

She smiled, barely, just enough for him and only him to see. “For such squinty eyes, they manage to say a hell of a lot more than that big mouth of yours.”

He ducked his head, letting his hair fall in his eyes. “Stop.”

Then she was there, in his space, brushing his bangs back, smiling softly at him. “You really are an ass, Daryl Dixon.”

“Yeah, well.” He could barely think with her this close. “Fire’s nice an’ warm. You really are a housewife.”

Her smile turned coy. “Wife, huh?”

Daryl shoved himself back, slamming into the table, nearly overturning it. “Shut up.”

“It is pretty homey here,” she said, all trace of hurt and anger gone, replaced with that teasing spark he didn’t know what to do with. “And just one bed.”

“Stop.”

Carol laughed. “You’re blushing, Mr. Dixon.”

“Shut up,” he repeated, turning around and focusing on the coyote. At least pretending to focus. “What d’you want? Stew? Steak? Barbecue?”

A hand on his shoulder, feather light, barely registered before it was gone. “Whatever you want, big guy.”

“ _Stop_.”

She just laughed, and Daryl carved into the animal with significantly more force than necessary.

 

—

 

“Food’s ready.”

Daryl wandered back over to the fireplace, sniffing skeptically. “No sardines?”

Carol gave him a look. “I made chile out of coyote and beans. You should be impressed.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Alright.”

“Make yourself useful and get bowls,” she directed, still stirring. He did as she said, and she ladled out two portions.

“It isn’t exactly chili,” Carol admitted, handing him his bowl. “It’s, ah.”

“Coyote and beans?” he asked, again sniffing. “Smells okay.”

“I’m just happy there’s a pot for the fireplace,” she replied, blowing on a spoonful. “I didn’t think they still made those.”

Daryl shrugged, taking the first bite. He let out a quiet noise. “Damn.”

“That bad?” she asked, eyeing her spoonful.

“’T’s _good_.” He looked at her with something that was meant to only be appreciation but he thought might have been more. “Thanks.”

“Oh,” Carol said, bemused. She took a bite. “Hmm. Could be worse.”

“Shit, woman. You work miracles.” She snorted, and Daryl blushed. “Y’know.”

“Just for that, maybe I won’t make you do the dishes,” she replied.

He was too busy eating to reply, and he kept thinking about the word _housewife_ , and so it was easier to say his mouth was too full than to figure out a snappy comeback. She didn’t seem to mind, and they ate the rest of their meal in silence.

 


	6. Drafty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You said it yourself—we’re getting higher up, and it’s going to cool down a lot more than what we’re used to.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw Emily Kinney live and met her on Sunday. It was amazing.

Daryl insisted on taking care of the dishes, which amounted to putting them in a pile by the back door to be washed in the stream the next morning, and when he came back, Carol was making up the bed.

“I got the couch,” Daryl said firmly, flopping on it. It groaned, but held his weight.

“What are you, twelve?” she asked. “You can’t share a bed with your best friend?”

Daryl didn’t know how to respond, because no, he couldn’t and no, there wasn’t a way he could get out of it without saying the wrong thing.

The right thing?

No. Definitely wrong.

“I’m exhausted,” he lied. “Don’t wanna get up.”

“You’re such a baby,” she said, laughing. “C’mon. Your back will thank me in the morning.”

He shifted slightly, and a spring bounced up, stabbing him in the kidney. He winced, closing his eyes, willing himself elsewhere.

Like in bed with Carol, for instance.

“‘M fine,” he muttered, closing his eyes and throwing an arm over his face. “Already settled.”

“You don’t even have a blanket,” she said, and the genuine concern in her voice was enough to make him blush.

“Fire’s still goin’,” he said, though they were letting it burn down. Neither of them wanted to be woken up in the middle of the night with the house on fire, and it was now more of a gentle glow than anything else.

“And when it goes out?” she challenged. “You said it yourself—we’re getting higher up, and it’s going to cool down a lot more than what we’re used to.”

She had a point. Sharing a bed would be a hell of a lot warmer than being alone on the couch.

_For too many reasons._

“I’ll deal with it then,” he said, and repeated: “I don’ wanna move. ‘M fine.”

She sighed, and he heard the floorboards creaking as she moved around the cabin. Then something landed on his stomach, and he let out a yelp as he jumped up, knife out.

Carol laughed. “It’s a blanket, idiot.”

He turned a dark red. “Don’t throw things at me.”

“My big man, scared by a blanket,” she teased, voice lilting pleasantly. The bed creaked as she sat. “I still think you’re making a mistake, not taking me up on sharing the bed.”

“I ain’t nobody’s man,” he said instead, tugging the blanket over himself. The words had stung with his want, and it was humiliating.

“That’s what you think,” she said, still in a sing-song voice, and something twisted in him. Was she flirting? Actual flirting, rather than the banter that usually passed between them? Maybe he was more tired than he thought.

“Goodnight,” he said firmly, and rolled on his side, facing away from her. Not that she could see with the back of the couch between them, but it was the principle of the matter, and it probably had a lot more to do with him seeing her in bed, anyway.

He blew out his lantern, and a moment later hers went dark as well. Shadows danced slowly in the remnants of the fire. The bed creaked as she settled, and Daryl forced himself to stay still.

“Sleep well,” she called over, and he grunted in response. It’d be a miracle if he got any sleep at all.

 

—

 

“Daryl.”

He mumbled something in his sleep, awake enough to know his name wasn’t being said in a panic and thus could wait until morning.

A finger jabbed into his ribs. “Daryl.”

He let out an indignant cry, jumping away and squinting in the dark. It was pitch black as far as he could tell, and he had no idea how Carol had managed to find him, let alone poke him so accurately.

“Sorry,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “But hey, at least you’re awake.”

“What’d y’ want?” he asked, voice gravelly with sleep.

“It’s cold.”

As soon as she said it, he realized she was right. The cabin was drafty, and wind whistled through the cracks in the wood, turning what was already a chilly night into something unpleasant.

“What d’you want me to do ‘bout it?” he asked, trying to make out her expression, which was all but impossible. He could see her outline, and the shadowed contours of her face, but subtleties were lost in the night.

“Come to bed,” she demanded. There was no mistaking that tone. “Don’t make me argue. It’s the middle of the night and I’m exhausted, I’m not in the mood.”

Heat rushed through him, and suddenly cold seemed a world away. Share a bed. With Carol. Right now, with no warning (other than the warnings she’d given him before he’d fallen asleep).

_Because she’s cold. Stop thinkin’ like that, you’re better’n that._

Yeah, maybe, but the bed was only a double.

“Daryl, come on. You’re a grownup, you can handle this.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, gathering his blanket. “Still half asleep,” he added, as if that would make up for his suspiciously long silence. “I’m comin’.”

He stood up, and immediately crashed into Carol. He fell back onto the couch with a thud and the unmistakeable metal sound of a spring going. It twirled up through the pillow and jabbed at his lower back.

“Sorry,” she repeated. “I couldn’t find the matches to get the lantern going. Here, let me help.”

He felt her presence before her touch, and stiffened. Her fingertips brushed his chest, then felt along to his shoulder and down his arm, where she curled her hand around his, and tugged.

“I made it here in the dark once, I figure I can make it back.”

Her voice was light, with no hint that anything out of the ordinary was happening. Daryl didn’t trust himself to speak. He barely trusted himself to stand, and then follow her in shuffling footsteps. Her hand was so small, and her fingers cold. With every passing moment, he had to fight harder and harder not to wrap his entire body around hers.

“It’s here,” she said, and his knees bumped the bed. He jerked his hand free, too afraid of what might happen if he didn’t to savor the last few seconds. “Careful.”

“I got the blanket,” he said. “You can take it.”

“There’s enough to go around, dummy.” The blanket was taken from him and the bed creaked as she settled. “C’mon, get in.”

Thinking his heart might explode out of his chest, Daryl felt his way around to the side of the bed, kicked off his boots, unhooked the knife from his belt and set it down on the floor within reach, and climbed into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHAHAHA I EXIST
> 
> I swear. I'm trying. My health is shit, my life is crazy, everything is everywhere, but I'm trying.


End file.
